Why can’t he breathe.

His chest tightens, eyes flooded with a warm wet. He’s crying? He hasn’t done that in so long.

No matter how hard he tried to focus on his office, everything blurred, it didn’t matter. He fell to floor, he needed air. Unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt, tears streaming his cheeks. Chest heaving as sobs wrack his body.

He hadn’t had a panic attack in a decade.

You were coming to his office to deliver some papers, and saw him. You dropped everything and rushed to his side.

He barely registered you, didn’t know how to respond, didn’t hear you. He could see your face, looking up to you in fear. But his mind was much, all words lost.